A Collection of Short Stories
by Yakkorat
Summary: This is just a little collection of one-shots, poem-fics, song-fics, and the like. It'll be updated periodically when writer's block stands in the way of progressing with a longer piece.
1. Songfic: In the Wee Small Hours

**Author's Note:** This is just a quick little jaunt, the first of what may turn into many short little one-chapter pieces based on songs or poems, or some other silly little bit of inspiration. 

This particular piece is meant to be read with the song actually playing. The words fit rhythmically into the context of the song itself, spoken behind, and slightly over the lyrics. It's not very good, just a little something to try to break the writer's block.   
  


**In The Wee Small Hours Of The Morning  
Song Written by: David Mann / Bob Hilliard**

**When the sun is high...**

It had been a sticky hot day in the Caribbean... 

**In the afternoon sky...**

Just like the scorching day before. 

**You can always find something to do...**

Fixing up this old boat was going to take forever. 

**But from dusk till dawn...**

Thank God she could sit down. 

**As the clock ticks on...**

What a long day... 

**Something happens to you...**

Well, that's what happens when you're alone on your own boat. 

I**n the wee small hours of the morning...**

Sure, the deck was small, but look at those stars... 

**When the whole wide world is fast asleep...**

Jack would love to see this. 

**You lie awake, and think about the boy...**

Why had she told him no? 

**And never ever think of counting sheep...**

It wouldn't have caused _problems_! 

**When your lonely heart has learned its lesson...**

She could have been with Jack. 

**You'd be his if only he'd call...**

He wouldn't want her now... 

**In the wee small hours of the morning...**

What on earth had she been thinking? 

**That's the time you miss him most of all.**

He'd said she was daft to say no. 

They loved each other. He was sure of it. And to hell with what the rest of the bloody crew thought. He'd wanted her, no matter what. And she had been so stupid. "It'll ruin things between us, Jack. It'll cause problems." What had she done? 

**When the lonely heart has learned its lesson...**

Oh, Jack... 

**You'd be his if only he'd call...**

I do love you... 

**In the wee small hours of the morning...**

She reached out for a star, and wondered if he could be doing the same... 

**That's the time you miss him most of all.**

... And Anamaria let the tears fall. 


	2. Vignette: Best Medicine, 1250 words

**Title:** Best Medicine  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Set six years after the film, Will and Elizabeth Turner care for an ailing friend, but love is the very best medicine. _(Good GOD, was that corny enough for everyone?)_ Drabble. 1250 words exactly.  
**Pairing:** Sparrington & Will/Elizabeth  
**Disclaimer:** I own two very psychotic cats, a very Sparrow-esque husband, and a rambunctious two-year-old who likes to climb into the oven and onto the stove. Jack Sparrow belongs to the insanely talented Johnny Depp, James Norrington to the very witty Jack Davenport, Elizabeth Swann to the beautiful Kiera Knightly, and Will Turner to the .... *swoons* *gets up and brushes self off* I'm all right. Will Turner belongs to the very talented, witty, and beautiful Orlando Bloom. Who needs a stylist. Badly. And special thanks to Ted & Terry for NOT suing me for playing around in their sandbox. (The Mouse owns everything else.)  
  
**Crossposted:** several communities on LJ, The Parley Archive, ff.net, aff.net  
**Thanks to my betas and test readers:** Adam, Beth, Michael, Jen F., Chrys (Chrysanthemum: The Parley Archive), Kelly (Enya: aff.net, bloody_adorable: LJ), Kat (solytayre: LJ), Josh (goatboydamient: LJ & aff.net), and Rachel (rutaari: aff.net).  
  
**Special thanks** to Josh for being there when I needed him, and for giving me the lovely image from whence this short little ficlet was born.  
  
**Dedication:** To Cindy (Aldesina: ff.net) who whipped me into a Jack Davenport frenzy, the ultimate result of which was my trying Sparrington, and Webcrowmancer (The Parley Archive & LJ), and Firesignwriter (The Parley Archive & LJ) who made me love it. I only wish this were a finer piece, ladies, because you deserve it.

~~~~~~~~ BEST MEDICINE ~~~~~~~~

Will stood just inside the door, his lower lip caught between his teeth. On the bed in front of him lay a gravely injured man, a man who Will had been content to despise when they had first met. But so much had happened since then. This man, the one with the bright shiny new hole in his chest, had risked his neck for Will, time and time again, despite his vehement insistence that he did nothing for anyone's benefit besides his own. Even with all his protestations of selfishness, he couldn't fool Will. Not when he so often managed to "forget" a bag or two of 'swag' when he came to visit. Of course, he'd always insist that he had done no such thing the next time he returned. And Will had seen him lay down perfectly good gold to buy bread he had delivered not two minutes later into the grateful hands of a street urchin. Not exactly the hardened pirate he made himself out to be. 

And beyond what Will had seen, he had heard the stories: the Pearl sacked towns without casualties, they subdued rather than slaughtered when they boarded, they were never unduly vicious, and all under their captain's orders. 

No, it was undeniable. This was a good man lying before him. Perhaps not always an honest one, but a good man nonetheless. He didn't deserve this. 

The man didn't toss and turn, wasn't restless in his sleep. He simply lay there, unmoving, the stark white bandages wrapped around his chest severely contrasting with the bronzed tan of his skin. The fever had been terrible at first, overwhelming the pirate with fierce shivers and moans. Thank God, it had broken a few hours ago, and Jack had subsided into a quiet stillness. 

Estrella and Bernard, Elizabeth's former maid and manservant, had seen to it that the pirate captain received a bath, and then Will's own beloved wife had lovingly combed all the beads from his hair. After tucking Jack into one of her father's dressing gowns, Elizabeth and Will had laid him gently on fresh linens in the governor's best guest room. Here, he could rest in safety. 

The curtains were parted only slightly, allowing the barest sliver of light to illuminate the injured man lost amid the sheets in the large bed. The moonlight danced over his skin, laying intimate kisses on the smooth curve of his cheek, lacing itself playfully through the whiskers on his chin. In the lonely darkness, Luna's gentle rays embraced him, holding him tenderly, lovingly in their soft blue-white glow. 

Will remembered with a shudder another time he'd seen this man bathed in moonlight, the taut lines of his flesh stripped away to bleached bone. He'd almost died that day. Jack could have died today. 

Cringing, Will shook off the unpleasant memory and returned his attention to his wounded friend. Lying uncharacteristically still, Jack Sparrow looked the very picture of youth, vulnerable and wholly innocent. Will almost smiled at the observation. Innocent was not a word one often associated with Jack Sparrow. But there he was, tendrils of usually tangled coal black hair falling over his brow, looking for all the world like a defenseless child. 

Perhaps it was the size of the bed. It must be far larger than the pirate captain was used to. Alone in the center of it, the soft blankets pulled up over his waist, he seemed forlorn. Smaller somehow. The exhaustion of sickness had pulled all the tension from his features and he looked as if he was finally at peace. Neither the removing the shot nor the blessedly short-lived fever had gone easy with him. 

Seeing Jack, a man he so greatly admired, laid low and weak was a stab to the blacksmith's heart. But even in the midst of his grief, he knew that there was someone for whom all this would be much more difficult to bear. 

The hour was approaching midnight. He would be there soon, and it was a good thing too. Unconsciousness still held the pirate captain in her unforgiving grasp, but earlier, in the throes of his fever, he had called out for James, seeking comfort from the man he had loved for near six years. Will knew that James wanted to be here now. It was probably killing the commodore to have to go through his daily regime knowing that the man he loved was lying helpless in someone else's bed. From the moment Estrella had given him Elizabeth's note, Norrington's stomach must have been in his knees. 

Yes, James would be making his way to the governor's mansion the minute he could extricate himself from his duties at the Fort. 

It was, therefore, no surprise to Will when the door opened softly behind him. "He's here, Will," Elizabeth said in a low voice. Will nodded, moving aside to let her and Norrington enter the sickroom. 

When James laid eyes on his pirate lover, what little color the pale man usually had fled his face. "I came as soon as I could," he said quietly, removing his justacorps and hat. 

"I know," the blacksmith said gently. 

"Has he said anything?" 

"He asked for you," Will murmured. 

The taller man pursed his lips tightly, a short, painstakingly controlled nod all he could manage. "How bad is it?" he asked, his voice ragged with worry. 

"It's bad," Will told the man solemnly. "A few more inches to the left and he never would have made it. The doctor still can't believe the shot didn't puncture anything vital. He was lucky." 

Mutely, James nodded again, swallowing hard, his eyes riveted to the slumbering form. "He's Captain Jack Sparrow," James breathed reverently after a moment, as if that were explanation enough. Which, of course, it very nearly was. Both Turners nodded, Elizabeth offering her long-time friend a tiny smile as she slipped her fingers into Will's hand, squeezing gently. 

"Thank you," James said softly, tearing his eyes from the wounded man, "for taking him in." 

"There was nothing else we could have done, James," Elizabeth assured him. "And Father being away only made it simpler. No one will find him here but Estrella, and she won't breathe a word." 

"We care for him too, James," Will reminded him. 

Jack moaned faintly in his sleep, and James's eyes shot back to the bed as if dragged there by force. "Go on," Will smiled. "He needs you." 

"Again, I thank you," the older man said, catching Will's eyes and holding them for a single heartbeat. Then he was stripping off his boots and shirt and climbing into the large bed beside his pirate. With trembling hands, he reached out for Jack and brought him close, laying a gentle kiss on his temple. 

For a moment, there was no outward sign of any reaction at all. Then, for the first time in hours, Jack moved. He snuggled in closer to his beloved, nuzzling the officer's chest. "Jamie," he sighed contentedly. 

James smiled through - dear God, were those tears in his eyes? "Shh. Soft, you. You need rest, Jack, and I'm here now," the commodore murmured, running his fingers through the pirate's uncommonly clean and noticeably unbedecked mane. "I'm here," he whispered again as Will quietly closed the door. 

In the darkened hall, the blacksmith smiled to himself. James was there, and that's all that Jack would need. With an infinitely lighter heart, he set out to find his wife. 

~ FIN ~


	3. Drabble: Trust Gibbs, 223 words

**Title:** Trust Gibbs  
**Author:** Yakkorat  
**Rated: G  
Disclaimer:** Not mine. Yada, yada, yada.  
**Summary:** God, for 223 words, do you really need a summary? Jack reflects on his friend Joshamee.  
  
You could trust Joshamee Gibbs with anything but a secret. From the first moment he had laid eyes on the grizzly old pirate, Jack had known that. Gibbs was the sort of man you could trust with your money, your woman, your ship, and even your life, but if you wanted something to stay quiet, you were mad to whisper it within ten leagues of the man. Yes, Jack knew he could leave the _Pearl_ to his quartermaster's care and have nary a worry. He knew that Gibbs would follow his orders without question, no matter how daft they sounded or how little he understood Jack's ultimate plans. If it came to it, Jack was even fairly certain that Gibbs would trade his life for his captain's, and that was an extremely rare loyalty in any pirate. No, it wasn't Joshamee's loyalty that was in question; it was his discretion. But really, Jack had only himself to blame. He had always known his quartermaster's particular limitations, and yet a few hours libation had caused him to reveal information he just as soon would have taken to the grave.  
  
So as he sat there in front of a cake burning with entirely too many candles for his liking, he wondered... _What in seven hells ever possessed me to tell that man my birthday?_

FIN

**Author's Note:** For those of you waiting for an update on "Do As I Say, Not As I Do," rest assured, it is coming. There are two chapters ready for beta-ing right now, but I hesitate to get them posted until I can get a bit farther ahead. I'd like to be able to post regularly when I start posting it again. And "Echoes," the fic which has captured my attention these past nine months, is almost complete. I hope when it is posted here, you will understand why "Do As I Say" had to take a back seat. And thank you ever so much for your patience.


	4. Vignette: Clandestine Meeting, 954 words

**Title:** Clandestine Meeting  
**Author:** Yakkorat  
**Rating:**G  
**Pairing:** Jack/James pre-pre-pre slash if you'd like. It can be taken as Gen if you'd prefer to see it as a stand-alone.  
**Disclaimer:** The rat owns it all.  
**Summary:** This is a "lost scene" from the film that would take place between Jack's saying "They done what's right by them. Can't ask for more than that," and the beating of those awful drums.  
**Notes:** Just something I wrote to try to beat the writer's block. This vignette is from the same universe as _Best Medicine_ (six and a half years before that vignette, obviously) but can easily be taken as a stand-alone. There is a sufficiently long fic coming eventually which takes place between this vignette and _Best Medicine_, but it is last on a priority list of eight different writing projects and designing the world for my original novel.

**Clandestine Meeting**

The knock at the smithy door surprised young William Turner, and he froze in mid-swing, his hammer raised above his head, poised to strike. Who would be at the door at this time of night? Master Brown had long since returned home in a drunken stupor, and everyone knew that his apprentice was the only one who would be at the forge after dark.

With a surge of hope, the blacksmith laid the hammer on the anvil beside his metalwork. Maybe it was Gibbs or Anamaria, or anyone from the _Pearl_. God, he hoped so. He had sent a message almost two weeks ago, as soon as the _Dauntless_ had landed back in Port Royal, and now Jack's execution was looming dangerously close. So far, the letter had received no response.  
He opened the door quickly, expecting to usher a fugitive pirate into the relative safety of the shop. But it was no pirate on his doorstep. In fact, nothing could have shocked him more than the man he found there instead, and for fraction of a second, he just stared. He couldn't help it; a straight-backed, white-wigged commodore was the very last thing he had expected. Luckily, William Turner was not a man to be easily rattled, and he acknowledged Norrington with a cordial nod. _What on earth is that man doing here in the middle of the night?_

"May I come in, Mr. Turner?"

"Of course," Will said, stepping aside to let the officer enter. If his heart was pounding a bit faster than usual, he was hardly going to let the other man see that.

"I am here," Norrington stated matter-of-factly, "because your friend, Mr. Sparrow, is scheduled to be executed in three days."

Instantly, Will's expression turned cold, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "_Captain_ Sparrow," he corrected automatically, "and I am well aware of when my friend is scheduled to die."

"I assume you've contacted his ship and made the necessary arrangements?" the commodore asked.

Did he really expect that Will would fall into that kind of verbal booby-trap? The blacksmith may not have had the schooling which had been available to Elizabeth, or Norrington, (or even, Will suspected, to the pirate captain in question,) but as he had told Jack weeks ago, he was no simpleton. Norrington would not trip him up so easily. When Will answered, his voice was calm and even, giving nothing away. "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean, Commodore."

"Do not insult my intelligence, Mr. Turner. It is neither flattering to your integrity nor does it speak well of your regard for my astuteness. I know full well that you intend to rescue the pirate."

Will shook his head. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Come, come, Turner," Norrington said, taking a step closer. "Do not waste my time. I do not wish to see him hang any more than you do."

Taken aback by the earnestness in his rival's expression, Will furrowed his brows. "You can't be serious."

"As loath as I am to admit it," Norrington said with a long-suffering sigh, "he did save Elizabeth's life, not once but twice, and at the considerable risk of his own."

Hearing his angel's name so familiar on those lips was an ache all its own, but Will ruthlessly pushed the thoughts away. That battle was already fought and lost. No sense risking Jack to the hangman because he couldn't accept it.

"He did," Will agreed.

"I would prefer not to repay that courage with execution, but I am bound by the particulars of the law."

"So you came here to be certain that someone would do what you cannot do yourself." _Someone with less to lose, _Will couldn't help adding bitterly.

"Was I so wrong to believe that if the pirate had an ally, I would find him here? Port Royal is filled with good men, but most would not risk life and limb to save anyone. Of all people, Mr. Turner… I hardly think I need to remind you of the importance of loyalty to one's friends."

Will raised his brows, aware that he had just been paid a heartfelt compliment by the man who had long been his undeclared nemesis, at least as far as Elizabeth's affections were concerned. "Thank you," he said solemnly. "And you're right. I need no reminder."

Norrington gave him a grave look. "You understand, of course, that I cannot help you; that I will in fact do my very best to prevent you from succeeding."

"Of course."

"And that if Elizabeth cannot appeal to her father on your behalf, you may be subject to severe consequences."

That was a risk Will had accepted the moment he had first sent word to the_ Pearl_ two weeks ago. In fact, it was a risk he had accepted the moment he let Jack out of the jail cell to go after Elizabeth. "I know," he said.

"And this little conversation?"

"Never took place, Commodore."

Norrington nodded, satisfied. "Then I shall see you in three days, Mr. Turner. Best be in good form."

Will gave a short nod. "I will be. And thank you."

"You are welcome, Mr. Turner. And good luck." He reached for the door handle and was gone before Will could say another word.

Will slid the bar into the latch, locking the door, and turned back to his work with a crooked smile. Despite the Commodore's assurances that he would not hold back in his efforts, that he would attempt to thwart whatever rescue attempt Will put into action, the blacksmith had the distinct feeling that Jack Sparrow had at least one more ally in Port Royal. Maybe, just maybe, Jack would get out of this yet.

FIN

**Author's Note:** Oh, God... it's so wooden it makes me ill. I'm aware that this is terrible. The discomfort they were supposed to be feeling in each other's presences didn't come through at all. Grrr. Stupid writer's block.

**Author's Note:** For those of you waiting on a new chapter of _Do As I Say, Not As I Do_, I appreciate your patience. The story hasn't been abandoned, only put on hold. _Echoes_, which has commandeered my muse and which I will not begin posting until it reaches completion, should be done within the next month or two. Sooner if real life will calm down a bit, though I highly doubt that will happen. Once _Echoes_ is finished, I will dive back into _Do As I Say, Not As I Do_, but _Echoes_ looks to be the definitive work of my young career and I am determined to give it the attention it demands.


	5. Vignette: Commodore's Christmas Gift, 15...

**Title:** The Commodore's Christmas Gift  
**Author:** Yakkorat  
**Pairing:** Sparrington  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Celebrate Christmas, Caribbean style. Jack and James' first Christmas together. Can be taken as part of the "Best Medicine" and "Clandestine Meeting" universe or as a stand-alone.  
**Disclaimer: **If I owned them, they'd be waiting under my tree dressed only in red bows.  
**Dedication:** To all of you who have loved me, and all who I have loved. Have a bright and blessed holiday season, no matter what holiday you choose to claim.

**The Commodore's Christmas Gift **

"Where in the name of all that is holy did you find a tree that big?"

"Shh," Jack hissed. "You'll spoil it!"

''But it's enormous," James protested. ''However will we get it through town without being seen?"

The pirate flashed him a broad grin and removed the tricorne from his trinket-laden head. He stuffed it surreptitiously between two branches and proceeded to pick up the tree. It obscured every inch of him.

James could barely keep from laughing at the sight: a giant fir tree with pirate legs. Surely someone would ask about the oddly dressed errand boy struggling through the streets with such an awkward burden. But as was usual, Jack's obfuscation worked flawlessly, and no one stopped them as they moved through the town of Port Royal and up to the commodore's modest home.

"We will never get it onto the table," James said once they'd managed to maneuver the Arbor through the door.

"No, but who needs it up there, love? Besides, there's just one tree for us both, and I thought, if we were going to unwrap our presents underneath it..." The pirate leered at him suggestively, and then swept his gaze all the way from the naval officer 's head down to his toes. A bolt of lightning shot through James, pooling fire in his groin as he allowed himself a moment to think about peeling back Sparrow's clothes from his lean, lithe body Christmas morning, leaving that bronzed skin flickering in the firelight, framed by a wreath of evergreen boughs.

"Very well. In the corner by the fireplace then. Not too near the fireplace, if you please."

"No, of course not."

"And I shall ask Tabitha bake some gingerbread cookies."

"Perfect. Now to find the girl."

"I 'eard you, good sir," the scullery maid said, bustling past with a basket of laundry and a huge smile. "And it's awful good to see you again, Captain."

Inwardly, James smiled, grateful as always for his serving girl's easy manner and absolute discretion.

"That's a good girl you've got there, James," Jack unknowingly agreed with his silent assessment.

James nodded. "I know. She'll have the cookies baked in an hour or two."

"What do you think, love? Here?" It was far enough away from the mantle to prevent a stray spark from reducing the Christmas tradition to tinder, but definitely close enough to fulfill the commodore's fantasy about unwrapping his pirate by firelight come morning. Absolutely perfect.

"Lovely," he said. "I'll just get out the tinsel."

"Is this piano in tune?" the pirate called after him.

"It is, but I'm afraid I don't play."

As he entered the storage pantry, James could almost hear Jack's answering smirk. "I do," Jack called, which didn't surprise the commodore a single bit.

James smiled at the scrape of wood on wood that meant his lover had pulled out the bench, and then the sweet, gentle melody of "Stille Nacht" began to fill the house. It was a simple tune: poignant and strangely reverent, considering the man who was playing it. Surprising and completely unbidden, the prickling of tears stung at the officer's eyes. As a child, this had been one of his favorite songs. Many happy holiday memories included singing this hymn, gathered around the piano with his father and brothers.

Had he even celebrated Christmas since the Admiral died?

He froze, his fingers splayed on a long-abandoned box tucked between a few other crates he had brought across from England but had never unpacked. No. He hadn't. This was the first time he had so much as hummed a carol since his father had passed nine years ago, the year before James had left England for good. Strange how one could simply overlook the holiday if one had no one with whom to share it. At that thought, his heart warmed a little. He had someone to share it with now. If they had to hide it from the rest of the waking world, save young Elizabeth and her William, so be it. He deliberately began to hum again and pulled the dusty box from the shelf.

It was the work of but a few moments to pull out the decorations they would use, and then James was back in his parlor, adding his rich baritone to Jack's tenor as they sang Christmas carols and giggled like schoolboys, the commodore's mood as light as he could ever remember it being. Half an hour passed like spring rain after winter's chill and soon Tabitha had the first batch of steaming gingerbread ready to add to the pile of tree dressing.

"Now then," the pirate smiled when the shapes had all been cut and tied with string, "shall we get started?"

And with that, the two men were off.

In the end, the tree was mostly decorated with tinsel and candles. Jack had some wire ornaments from his travels that he had brought, and Tabitha's gingerbread shapes dangled merrily from the boughs. When every last bit of cookie and tin had been hung, every last candle carefully placed and lit, the two men stood back to survey their work.

"Hmmm," Jack said, "I'm not sure."

James smiled. "I think it looks perfectly charming."

"It's just not personal enough. Here," he said, taking up his sash and untying it. "It needs a touch of us."

Careful not to disturb the strings of tinsel or - heaven forbid - the tiny flames of the candles, he wrapped the bolt of bright red fabric around the tree.

"Well, that's me, now, inn't it? Now," he said, looking far too studiously at James for comfort, "what about you?"

He stared at James for a moment, and then without warning reached forward to pluck the officer's wig from his head.

"I beg your pardon!" James protested, but it was no use.

"It's the very thing, Jamie-love," Jack insisted. And without another word, their Christmas tree was topped with the stiff white wig of His Majesty's Royal Navy.

For a moment, James could do nothing but stare, considering whether the affront to his dignity was worth more than the comic sight of this tree decked out with his wig and Jack's sash. As sturdy sailors' arms curled from behind him to encircle his waist and a beaded plait of beard came to rest on his shoulder, he had to admit that he was leaning rather more in favor of whimsicality.

"If you don't mind my sayin' so, sir," the maid said from the doorway, "I think it's the finest tree I've ever seen. Then again, things done with love always sparkle a bit brighter, don't they?"

Things done with love. God, they were lucky to have that child. "It looks wonderful," the officer finally breathed.

"It does, doesn't it?"

James could feel Jack's smile, and then the faintest brush of lips feathered over the skin of his neck. "I have a little something else for you," Jack whispered.

At the edge of his view, James saw Tabitha attempt to fight down a grin and nearly succeed. Then, she turned, smiling, and left them to themselves. Clever girl. "Really? And what might that be?"

"Sit down, love, and I'll give it to you."

As James settled himself on the sofa, the pirate reached into his waistcoat and produced a small, thin package, wrapped in brown paper, that filled James with a childish excitement the second he saw it. Suspecting he already knew what it contained, James tore into it with a dignified glee and was not disappointed.

"A sugar stick! I haven't seen one of these since I came from London. Where ever did you manage to find one?" he asked curiously.

"The choirmaster over at Christ's Church. He had them for the kiddies. I told him I had someone back home as sweet as sugar, asked him if I could take one."

James rolled his eyes ever so slightly at that bit of saccharine sentimentality, but then smiled again. "That was very kind of you, Jack. You shall have to share it with me."

To his surprise, the pirate captain shook his head. "No, thank you." Lowering himself to his knees between the commodore's legs, he reached for the laces of James' breeches. "You have your sugar stick, " he grinned wolfishly, flicking his eyes up to bore into James' with a consuming hunger that set the officer's belly ablaze, "and I have mine. Happy Christmas, Jamie."

For a single second, James raised a brow. Then he settled back in his seat and allowed himself to be devoured. "Happy Christmas, Jack," he smiled, as skilled hands and a far too talented mouth enveloped him in velvet bliss. ''Happy Christmas, indeed."

He popped the end of the sugar stick in his mouth and spun it joyfully. There would be no more overlooking the holiday now. No, he felt certain he was going to be looking very forward to Christmas next year.

And he couldn't imagine anyone better to share it with.

FIN

**Author**'**s Note:** The use of Christmas trees was just starting to gain real popularity in this time period, although they were mostly small trees set on the table, one for each member of the family, under which that person's presents would be laid. The decorations Jack and James use are period accurate, though. Also, as you might have guessed, the plain white sugar stick was the predecessor to the candy cane, which to the best of my research started in England with a choirmaster giving them out to his children's choir. Again, it was only _beginning_ to be popular in the time period, but I took a few liberties. grin It was in the interest of furthering the story. If I remember correctly, "Silent Night" is period appropriate (though again, whether it would have traveled to the Caribbean by this point is questionable), but I didn't look that one up so I could be wrong. But anyway, thank you for reading, and have a wonderful, _wonderful_ holiday. I love you all.


	6. Vignette: Crimson Remembrance, 988 words

**Title:** Crimson Remembrance  
**Author:** Yakkorat  
**Pairing:** Jack/Will  
**Rating:** PG. Maybe G. And someday I will finish the heavier stuff.  
**Summary:** Five years after Jack's death, Will Turner reflects...  
**Beta:** The endlessly talented Chrysanthemum  
**Disclaimer:** They all belong to me! maniacal laughter sigh Time to check my meds again.  
**Dedication:** To anyone who has ever held on to something that didn't belong to them because there was someone they just couldn't bear to let go.   
**Inspired by** a grey camouflage bandana that still sits on the headboard of my bed. Miss you, love. So much. I wish you all the joy in the world.  


**Crimson Remembrance**

_It doesn't smell like you anymore. I never washed it, but the years have faded your scent away like morning mist. It hardly matters. I still wear it every day, that splash of crimson a severe contrast to the rest of my somber costume. _

Oh yes, I wear a certain ensemble now that you would have either laughed at or loved if you were here. All black. Must project the proper image, you know. Not all of us can play the debonair pirate captain as effortlessly or as flawlessly as you could. My heart isn't in it, but for you, for the Pearl_, I try to do it proud. As you well know, I am not a cruel man, and perhaps I offer a bit more quarter than even you would have liked, but I keep the men happy, and for the most part the_ Pearl _as well. She misses you, Jack, though that should come as no surprise. We all do. The Caribbean is just not the same without you. _

Lord Almighty. Captain Will Turner. Would you ever have believed it? After all the fuss I made about loving a pirate, not being one, it's nothing I ever expected. But Ana wouldn't take no for an answer. She said she appreciated your faith in her, but that she knew the Pearl _was for me... said the old girl wouldn't sail as well for anyone who wasn't half sea-sprite like you and teased that in all our years together, you must have imbued me with some of your fey magic, even if you were 'stuffing it up my arse.' Well, she's never been a gentlewoman, Jack, and the blatancy of her speech ceased to shock me a very long time ago. And we needed her that way, didn't we, love? A captain needs a quartermaster who isn't afraid to tell him that his prick is in his ear, and she's never had problems with that. Blunt, honest to a fault, that's Ana. One of the men, despite the differing equipment. They would have followed her, had she chosen to hold onto the captaincy you left her, but Ana said she never wanted that responsibility. In the dark, though, I oft hear her whisper that the_ Pearl _deserves to have someone at her helm who can understand her, and that only someone who has loved you as this bloody ship loved you - Ana's words, not mine - could claim to do that. So she's stayed on as quartermaster, ignoring the weakness she sees in her captain when she walks in on him sleeping and finds a familiar swath of red fabric curled around fingers that hold it to his cheek. I still sleep with it every night, Jack. It smells like me now, and that should please you. _

God, five years you've been away from us now. Five years to the day. In all this time I've never talked to you, never asked for your help, never cried. I try every day to be worthy of the legacy you left me. But it's not enough. When I stand on the deck at night, clutching your sash to my breast and trying to make my peace with the ocean you loved, her cold wind whips at my fingers and tries to tear the cloth from my hands every time. The sea is ever merciless, demanding more from me, as if there's anything more to give. What else could she possibly ask? I gave her your body. I always knew she held your soul. The scarlet sash from your hair I get to keep, and if she's so desperate to have it back, she'll just have to wait until I bring it down to her. I know it's such a little thing, but I hold on tight to it, Jack. I hold on because sometimes, just sometimes, it's all I have left. 

0000000000

It wasn't a letter. Not really. Will had just been sitting alone in the great cabin, drinking a bottle of rum to toast Jack's memory, twisting his fingers in the spare scarlet material that draped over his shoulder. He had been trying to gather the will to write to Elizabeth, as he often did, asking after her and the Commodore's gaggle of children who called him "Uncle Pirate" when he visited, much to Norrington's consternation. Elizabeth, he knew, would understand his sorrow, the keen feeling of loss that still split a chasm in his heart even after all these years. When he finally picked up the pen, however, this had come out instead. It poured from him, the words barely brushing his conscious mind before the pen was scratching them on the page. When he had finished, he rose from his seat, not even bothering to fold the pages. Up on deck all was quiet, and he moved with silent footsteps as far aft as he could go. He stood silently for a moment, the wind whipping the sheets in his hands as he held than up, offering them to the moon and the sea like some virgin sacrifice to the pagan gods of old. _I love you, Jack,_ he said silently to the waves. _I love you and I miss you and I'm coming home to you soon._

He brought the letter to his lips and laid a kiss on each page. Then he held them aloft again, and when the time was right, he released them. The breeze caught the two fluttering pages and carried them down to the glassy surface of the quiet Caribbean Sea. By the light of the full summer moon, Will watched the paper darken as it absorbed the water, as the ink ran off the pages, carrying his precious words down to the depths where his beloved pirate would be waiting for them. Where, someday, some time, Will would finally join him, and they would be together again. 

FIN 


End file.
